


The King's Jewel

by ClassiqueMystique



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Thranduil has no problems with that ;-), Bard Likes to Make Thranduil Beg, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bottom Thranduil, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prior-Battle of Five Armies, Requited Love, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassiqueMystique/pseuds/ClassiqueMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The riches of Middle Earth might be fortified within the Kingdom of Erebor, but Bard believes that he already possesses the finest gem within all the realms: Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I had to write this because the eye-fuckery between these two in the movie was EVERYTHING! Plus Lee and Luke really gave it their all to bring these two characters to life, and they did a fantastic job. I adore them both and I adore anyone who decides to read my fic. :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -CM

Bard always knew when he’d come.

 

His wooden door gave way to no sound. The floorboards to his tiny home upon the lake never groaned when weight was placed upon them. The shadows never parted to reveal the pale flesh beneath them. His children, who were the lightest of sleepers he’d ever known, never gasped or gave voice to a foreign being in their home. No, the only indication given that he was not alone in his bed was the small, yet warm kiss placed just beneath his left ear—a spot Thranduil seemed to favor.

 

“My Elf,” he would whisper to his lover, eyes still closed but a smile bright upon his lips.

 

“My King,” was always the reply, smooth in its timbre.

 

Rough and calloused hands would find their way to the soft, radiant skin of his lover’s hips, divested of the only thing the Elvenking would wear to see him: his silver robes. Together they would move as one—as if they were forever meant to be as one and nothing else. The searing heat of the elf upon him was headier than even the strongest of Dorwinion wine, forcing the simple bargeman to open his eyes and gaze up in wonder at the creature of beauty on his lap.

 

They would never make a sound. They could not. Bard’s children slept only in the next room, separated by not a door, but a mere cloth posing in feeble attempt as a curtain. Yet this act of fornication called for no sounds of passion, no words of sexual gratification. It required only the look shared between two people who possessed something that most, be they mankind or Elves, joined together in lifelong pledges could merely wish for.

 

They would move slowly, peacefully, wishing to utilize every second they had in each other’s company—to prolong the inevitable conclusion to their unions where they would separate and live lives in distance to each other. He knew his beloved could not stay with him forever. The war only brought them together for a short while. Dale was not a place of dwelling for one of royalty. It was a place belonging to rough men and women who have known only hardship and hard work their entire lives. Lives that on the morrow many would fight for and fail in attempt. Lives that were not but a blink in time in the eyes of the Elves. Generations of man would rise and fall in the lifespan of one elf, especially a king whose reign has spanned since the dawn of the Second Age. Bard himself would one day fall from this earth in death, but the radiance of his Elvin lover will shine on for many more until the world itself would cease to beat and become a place of absolute silence. Still however foolish they were, both chose to ignore that consequence for the time being, choosing instead to focus on what they could see and touch in the present time.

 

On what was **real**.

 

Pale hands that remained unblemished throughout past years fell on Bard’s chest, giving his lover the leverage needed to rise and fall atop him. Unblinking moonstone eyes as bright as the shiniest of stars on Middle Earth gazed down at him, searching the very depths of his soul, bringing to the forefront a swell of emotions long buried since the day he laid his wife to rest. Thranduil’s hair, akin to woven silk, fell around them like a curtain of gold, sealing them there within that moment and shielding them from the outside world. The desire to touch such silk became a sudden urge and as a mortal man, Bard was unsurprisingly weak against temptations. Pointless was the idea to resist so divine an offering, so he gave into it, his hand reaching up to entwine in that hair at the nape of Thranduil’s neck. His fingers caressed the delicate scalp in a sensual massage. It was the rarest of times when the elf would let his eyes slip shut, his mouth open in a silent gasp.

 

The light of the moon seeped in through the open window, pushing past the flimsy cloth curtain and cascading over them in waves, thoroughly bathing both in its warm glow. Bard knew his elf was close. Drops akin to liquid pearls splashed onto his bare chest from a cock that stood as regal as the king it was attached to. Thranduil, with lips still parted, had his head thrown back, his rhythm atop the bargeman less steady but ever desperate in the need for completion. Bard yearned to see Thranduil come apart at the seams. Just as every prior encounter between them he needed to see the Elvenking lose all composure—to see the mountains of ice within him submit to bursting dams of pleasure that only Bard could bring forth within him.

 

As much as it pained Bard to bring their lovemaking to an end, it pained him more so to deny his lover the satisfaction he deserved. With the passing days, he found that he could deny the Elvenking nothing. Nimble fingers sought out the place where they joined together, stroking the Elf’s stretched entrance with light touches. This was his undoing every time and with a soundless cry Thranduil released everything he had, painting Bard in his essence that always smelled and tasted similar to the crisp morning dew that freshly bloomed flowers and grass had to offer in the start of Spring.

 

And as attuned as Bard was to the elf’s body, so was Thranduil to his. For all the Elvenking had to do was look down at him with eyes full of emotion and with a rarely seen smile upon lips for the man to lose himself in his own pleasure. Thranduil would shiver slightly as he accepted the warmth of Bard’s offering inside him, their eyes locked until every drop was well received. Then when breath was regained, Bard would pull the elf forward so that chest pressed against chest and hearts beat as one. Sleep would instantly overtake him and his elf on any normal night, but the comfort of dreams lingered at bay for the bowman on this one. Therefore, he opted to cherish the sight of his lover in his arms, graceful and elegant even his sleep.

 

Bard knew that the future held no certainty—that death could be upon them at any time of its choosing. Tis the consequence of mortality after all. Yet on this night, he was assured of one thing: tomorrow man and elves would go to war over riches and jewels promised to them, but in this moment he held possession over the finest gem of all of Middle Earth. And that was a bounty freely given to him, and claimed _by him_ in only the purest of ways: through love.

 

**The End**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I had this chapter in mind for a little bit, wrote it, but I wasn't sure if it was good enough to post. There are just so many amazing Barduil fics out there! I remember when this pairing only had 13 works on AO3. Now it has over 310! Magnificient! 
> 
> Anyways, I took the leap to post this and here it is! I hope its okay. Enjoy! :)

**2**

 

No one anticipated that the following day would be as it was. Bard rode into Erebor with lingering hopes that all lives, be they Dwarves, Elves, or Men, would be spared. Lives were precious in his mind, and the idea that their soldiers could lose theirs because of a forsaken promise made by a compromised mountain king killed his very soul. Thranduil was of like mind but he swore that the stubbornness of dwarves would only bring about bloodshed and death. And he was right. Only the cause of war came not from the company of Thorin  Oakenshield, but from a band of Orc's and goblins led by Azog the  defiler. It had not come as much of a shock to them as Mithrandir had warned them of the impending danger Azog would bring. But seeing was believing. And Thranduil nearly did not react when it did happen. A few enthusiastic words from Bard on how staying his hand was "madness" seemed to spur the Elvenking into action and in the nick of time. The elves were the element in the battle that saved the dwarves from utter decimation and continued to be a successful presence until victory against then Orc's was proclaimed. And when it was all over and their dead had been reclaimed, a physically worn and emotional scarred Thranduil returned to Bard's arms.

They managed to find an area in a part of the ruins of Dale where it was secure enough to pitch Thranduil's tent. They had a night alone with only each other and their own tumultuous thoughts. Bard's children were safe in Tauriel's care for the night. In fact, she had requested that assignment, claiming that both she and Kili, the only remaining son of Durin to Thror's lineage, wanted to experience the joys contained in the hearts of children to offset the cloud of death still lingering over them. Bard could hardly refuse her request nor Thranduil's words that his children could not have been placed in more capable hands than the she-elfs.

Despite the urge to talk--the need to communicate with each other about the events of the day and discuss the particulars of their alliance as the leaders of  their people, no words were broken. They did not have the strength for heavy conversation. If Thranduil had his way, he would not have spoken at all. But Bard knew that his lover was suffering some sort of pain unseen to mortal eyes. And they had nothing to do with the scars buried deep from Bard's sight.

Oh yes, the bowman knew of the injuries  that Thranduil kept hidden. He had never seen them before, nor was he aware of just _where_ those scars were located on his lover's persons, but he knew they existed. No one would pride themselves so heavily on their appearance unless they had something that they wanted to cover up. A pristine reflection of beauty is just that: a reflection. But what the Elvenking looked like mattered little to Bard. It was his heart that the mortal was after. A heart that was currently in pain and one that he would do anything to fix.

"What's wrong mine heart?"

Thranduil, who was in the middle of disrobing, through an incredulous look over his shoulder. "Such a strange question to ask amidst a battlefield, is it not?"

"The battle was won and our claims will be properly fulfilled by King Kili when he is able. The question is not as strange as you might believe. Besides, it was one posed to my lover, not to the King of the Woodland realm."

"Then I remain equally confused. Am I not one in the same?"

Bard smiled, placing a kiss on the elf's lips. His hand fell right above Thranduil's  heart. "What troubles you _here_."

The silence that followed afterward was intense, as was the Elvenking's gaze upon him. It may have intimidated others to have those steely, unblinking eyes focused on them, but not Bard. It thrilled him to have the blonde look at him with those piercing  blue eyes, to have them peer into the depths of his soul and in turn be open to the inspection by mortal brown ones. Whatever Thranduil was searching for in Bard he must have found, for the Elvenking suddenly slumped in posture as if a great weight was just lifted from his shoulders. “Today as the battle grew to a close, I went in search of you Bard. I had to know whether or not you were alive—to know if through your death I too had died on this day. Unfortunately I had the displeasure of walking through the ruins of Dale in my search to instead find many of my kind laying dead upon the frozen ground." He shrugged off Bard's touch.  "What right have I to call myself King if  I am to lead my people to their slaughter?

Bard took the elf's face in his hands. "You have the only right to call yourself their king." He lead them both over to the entrance to Thranduil's tent, pushing back the flap to reveal dozens upon dozens of men and elves taking up shelter below them in Dale. "Your right lay with the very faces of those you see before us. If as king you have the power to spare a few in order to save the many, then you must take it. If not then all lives lose their worth. Is that not in itself reason to fight?"

He was met with an expression of gloom. "You are but a man beloved. The concept is different when discussing elves. The lives of men can be easily replaced. An elf's cannot. We are groomed for centuries. Every life is precious to us. You do not understand." The words were not spoken in malice, but in sadness.

Bard nodded and led them further into the room near their makeshift bed. He made Thranduil sit while he pulled off his boots and socks, leaving the King in only his thin white undershirt that stretched to his mid thigh. "What I understand is that life is precious to all, but vision of that can become clouded under the presence of war. But I propose that we leave such plaguing thoughts for the morrow, and take comfort in each other's embrace tonight. Let us appreciate the life we have left in each other."

Thranduil nodded, pulling a now bare-chested bowman down on top of him. "Yes, let us do as such." He placed Bard's hand on his thigh just under his shirt. "I crave your touch beloved. To feel you heal wounds reopened by this war. Heal me Bard as no other man can. Take me. Make me forget everything, if not for a short while."

Of course Bard acquiesced to such a request, finding that he could deny the blonde in his arms absolutely nothing. It pained him to learn that this king, once seemingly devoid of a heart, actually had one that could so easily be broken. Bard pledged from that moment on, that he would spend every day of the rest of his relatively short life devoted to the Elvenking. "I will love and cherish you Thranduil as no other man has or ever will. And I will _make love_ to you as often as possible—do anything that is within my power to bring you happiness." He leaned up on his hands in sudden revelation. "And I would have you meet my children as well."

Thranduil's  eyes widened. "Your children? You would have me meet them," he asked in excitement.

"That is what I said. I would have them meet the one who has brought me nothing but joy since he stepped into my life. Would you like that?"

Thranduil nodded. "Very much so. Children are precious to us and revered greatly. I would treat them as my own."

Bard ran his hands up the elf's smooth, pale thighs, raising his lover's night shirt as he went. "It pleases me to hear such words—to know that the two pieces of my heart will come together as one," he purred. He pulled Thranduil closer to him, pushing the Elvenking's knees to his ears so that his hole was thoroughly exposed to Bard's lustful gaze. He ran his thumb over the pink, puckered entrance, pleased by the reaction it caused. "And now my love, it is time for us to join together in happiness and nothing else."

"Yes dear heart," Thranduil replied, reaching forward to loosen the strings  on Bard's pants. He moaned when the brown material slipped away, freeing an impressive erection that landed firmly on his hole. "Take me," he panted.  "Claim me as no other mortal has."

Bard smiled down at his elf, his hand reaching blindly for the jar of oil on the stand next to the bed. He loved Thranduil like this: needy, aching, and begging for his cock as if it were the only thing that would save his life. _As if his eternal life could end that is._ Nonetheless, this was the only time the Elvenking would allow himself to beg for anything, and Bard the only being he would submit to. The human loved every second of his encounters with the elf, including this one. Bringing oiled covered fingers from the jar, Bard captured Thranduil's  lips just as two fingers breached him, swallowing the elf's sensual moan. He wasted very little time prepping him, pulling out not even a minute after entering to return with three and then four fingers. He knew the blonde king could handle it—that he desired a small bit of pain alongside his pleasure. "Stop wasting time Bard," Thranduil whined, trying to pry Bard's  hand free. Instead the mortal smiled and curled his fingers, brushing hard against the sweet spot he knew was there. "You sound eager, little Elf. How bad is your hunger for my cock inside you?"

"Terrible. Worse than anything I've ever felt," Thranduil panted. He nearly cried out in relief when Bard slid home inside him, stretching him to full capacity. It was always difficult to speak when his human lover was inside of him, a time that he both loved and found irritating. Because Bard always used that to his advantage, whispering filthy things to him, words that heated his very core, burning him deliciously from the inside out. And this time was no exception.

“It’s a wonder how a mortal cock satisfies you every time Thranduil. You should see yourself: legs spread wide beneath me. The mighty Elvenking reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. You could put every harlot in Middle Earth to shame with the noises you’re making right now Thranduil.” He gave a particular rough thrust to the elf’s prostate to prove his point. He wondered absentmindedly if the guards outside heard their king’s rather lovely yodel.

Bard pulled Thranduil closer to him, bending his knees further down until they nearly touched the elf’s curved ears. In that position, Bard could watch his cock slide in and out of his lover’s tight, pink hole. “I would stay buried deep inside you if I could. Maybe we should try that, huh? We could open your tent to visitors, invite both of our people in to see the great and beautiful Elvenking. And what a sight they would see. You naked, riding me as gracefully as you do your massive elk. Or maybe something of a more public spectacle then? In the middle of the desolation of Dale, on your hands and knees perhaps? So that all can witness how eager Thranduil the Great is for mortal cock.”

At that the blonde moaned obscenely, his own cock leaking precome profusely. “Bard,” he moaned, delicate pale fingers reaching towards his straining cock. But of course the bastard that he was, Bard intercepted his hand, hold both above his head in a firm grip. “You dare to take your own pleasure? Is my cock not good enough for you, Elvenking? Perhaps I should go in search of another elf who can appreciate my attentions,” he teased, stilling his movements completely, even daring to pull out completely.

“No no no no please. Bard please. I need you so desperately. Anything—I’ll do anything to please you. Take me wherever you’d like. Dale, in my Greenwood kingdom, before the gates of Erebor while the Dwarves look on. Just please don’t stop. Please don’t.”

Bard almost forgot what they were doing. To hear such a plea as that from Thranduil nearly stopped him in his tracks. The desperation of it—the intensity and emotion—made him regret his actions. But he knew that the elf spoke those words not to make Bard feel shame, but because the mere thought of Bard leaving him in any capacity was something that he could not handle. The tears of relief when he entered Thranduil again were proof enough of that. The bowman leaned in close, capturing the elf’s lips hungrily. “Never. I will never stop. And I will never leave you. Nothing will ever tear us apart.” In truth it was a lie—his death will eventually be the factor that would separate them for good. But he did not voice what the elf already knew. It would be pointless and not what Thranduil needed.

Bard sped up his thrusts, setting a punishingly fast pace. Slick sounds and skin slapping against skin filling the air. This is what the blonde needed: a good hard fucking from the man that loved him. To have a thick cock plundering his hole mercilessly, unrelentingly, making his body arch with every thrust. But Bard could not last—he could feel his pleasure building nearly to its breaking point. “So tight around me. How weak a man I am. I cannot last.”

Thranduil claimed his lips, his hands running down the smooth expanse of his back until they landed on the swell of his backside. He pulled Bard closer to him, urging the bowman to go deeper inside of him. “I would feel you claim me Bard. Fill me with your seed. Give me all of it.”

“Take you pleasure first. I would see you contented, my dear elf,” Bard murmured against Thranduil’s lips. With renewed vigor, he pounded the elf’s sweet spot dead on, insistently, until a loud cry was heard and a flush of warmth between their bodies. It was all Bard needed to find his own completion, emptying himself within his lover’s slick passage.

 

~~~~

 

When Thranduil fell asleep, Bard slipped quietly from the tent to fill his lungs with Dale’s night air. It was brisk, the cool air slipping beneath his thin shirt and raising bumps over his skin. All was quiet: his people had settled in for the night, and it seemed as though Thranduil’s had as well. Only a few elves remained awake on patrol. Though why, Bard mused. There was no more threat. They had sent the orcs and goblins running earlier. But he supposed there was always the possibility that they would return and in the dead of night. It was what cowards do, and those vile creatures surely fit the bill. He wondered if maybe he should have ordered some of his own men to take up patrol watches. After all, it was only fair that his people share some of the load. But then he remembered the tiredness etched into their faces as he passed many of his townsmen on the way to Thranduil earlier. They all needed their rest, if only for this night. The elves can manage. Bard nodded in accordance with his own thoughts. His people will join watch tomorrow, when they have recuperated.

A noise to his left pulled him from his thoughts. He was surprised to see that it was Legolas who had come to stand next to him, looking outward to the shambles of Dale. “My Lord Legolas,” he greeted. “I did not think you were still here. Your father relayed your departure to me earlier.”

The young Elvenprince nodded. “I had planned to leave after the horn blew in remembrance of Thorin and young Fili, but something prolonged my stay.”

“Oh? What was that, may I ask?”

Instead of answering his question directly, Legolas instead said; “It was never clear to me. For many years, I spent most of my time trying to remember what it looked like, but I could never recall it clearly. I had to imagine how it looked—if it was big and warm, or small and chaste. If it ever happened at all.”

“I’m afraid that I do not understand my Lord,” said Bard softly.

The young prince turned to face him for the first time, an amused expression on his face. “My father’s smile. For quite a while, I believed that when my mother died, so did my father’s smile. And that is why I had such a hard time remembering what it looked like…until today. Today I saw his gaze fall upon a person amidst the aftermath of the battle and witnessed the sight of his smile that I never thought I would get to see again—a vision that I will not soon forget. You were that person, and I knew that I needed to engage you in conversation personally.”

Bard took in the young elf’s words, astounded at the meaning behind them. He knew that Thranduil cared deeply for him, but to that extent? To that which he himself felt for his Elvin lover? Tis the nature of humans to romanticize everything. He had wished of something deeper—more eternal before between them, but never had it occurred to him before that it could be more than a fantasy. “And for what purpose, my Lord?”

Legolas smiled at him, and Bard could not help but smile in kind. “To say thank you, Bard, King of Dale. You have given the rigid Greenwood King the one thing that he truly needed in this world. Something that will now remain in him for many a year to come. Something that I myself, must seek elsewhere. And on that note, I must depart. I can remain here no longer.”

Legolas gave Bard a friendly nod and turned away, sprinting up the rocky hill that led to the edge of Dale. Before he was out of hearing, Bard called out to him. “What was it that I gave him?”

Legolas looked at him as though the answer was obvious. “Love,” was all he said.

Bard nodded to himself, and called out for a final time. “My Lord Legolas, if you truly love your father as it is apparent in your eyes, then you would not stay away for too long. I fear my love for him will not be enough to sustain his smile if that were to happen.”

The young prince nodded at that and raised his arm in the traditional Elvin farewell. Bard did the same, and watched as Legolas disappeared beyond the cliff.

He knew the circumstances behind Legolas’ leaving, just as he knew that the young prince would return one day. Whether it be in his lifetime was the true question. It was a possibility. He liked the young prince and decided that he could learn a lot from someone like him. But like all children, they have to depart in order to find themselves and their own paths in life. Bard could only hope that Legolas path would eventually cross with theirs again. In doing so, the young elf would see that he had a home amongst them: Thranduil, Bard, Bain, Sigrid, Tilda.

A family.

His family.

His precious jewels.

Warm hands slipped around his waist from behind, and a head came to rest on his shoulder.

“What do you think about, King of Dale?”

Bard chuckled and settled into the embrace. “That I am the finest king among men.”

“Oh? And how did you come to that conclusion? What precious gem do _you_ hold in your possession that grants you that title?”

The bowman turned in Thranduil’s arms and held him tight. “You.”

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? If you'd like to see more Barduil fics from me, then leave a comment below. I have a few one-shots in mind, plus I am also expanding my Family Upon the Lake fic as well. But I am happy to take requests/suggestions! I'm not sure what the turn-around frame would be, but I will give it my all! :-)
> 
> -CM

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? I hope you enjoyed it. I have a few more (at least 2) Barduil plot bunnies hopping around in my head, so drop a dime if you want to see more, mellon nîn. :-)


End file.
